Wildest Dreams
by AlannasTara
Summary: His hair whipped around his face as the highway stretched before him. The air was hot and arid, and the dust stuck to him like a second skin, covering him in a layer of dirt. He gripped the throttle, speeding up, nothing before him but the desolate landscape of an empty horizon. Caryl AU.
1. Prologue

**AN: I do not own TWD or its characters. No copyright infringement intended. Inspired by the Madilyn Bailey cover of "Wildest Dreams"**

His hair whipped around his face as the highway stretched before him. The air was hot and arid, and the dust stuck to him like a second skin, covering him in a layer of dirt. He gripped the throttle, speeding up, nothing before him but the desolate landscape of an empty horizon.

" _Let's get out of here. Away from everything."_

 _It wouldn't last. They already knew before they began, there was too much between them. An ocean of reasons they could already see the end._

 _"No one has to know."_

 _A night full of memories to look back on when their stark existence threatened to swallow them up in the blackness._

It was worth it, worth the risk. He'd risk it all again. Heaven surely wouldn't take him in after everything he'd done, and she'd convinced herself what she'd done was just as bad. He was good at what he did. There'd be no lasting consequences, no repercussions for either of them. He'd thought he was taking her down with him, but she surprised him. She was good, too.

 _Her arms were wrapped around herself, as if to ward off a bitter chill even in the blazing heat of the summer evening. She looked over the balcony, watching as the burnt oranges, corals, and salmon slivers of brilliance danced, reflecting off of the silver tips of the waves as the sun dipped below the edge of the water. The tang of the salty sea air tickled her nose as the hot breeze brushed against her legs. The long skirt of her dress fluttered around, the slit in the side exposing her smooth, tanned calves and bare feet decorated with bright red toenail polish._

 _He slid his arms around her waist and nuzzled his chin into her neck, gazing over the vast expanse of water before them. He turned into her sun-kissed shoulder, brushing kisses against her neck, and ear, tasting the salt and sweat left behind on her skin. She sank back against him, feeling the strength of his body holding her in place. Tall, lean, eyes blue and hard as steel, hair dark and warm, like roasted chestnuts, he was handsome as hell. In her wildest dreams, she'd never imagined someone like him being here with her, right now, soaking up every last second of happiness granted to them, however temporary._

 _She lifted her hand to cup his cheek, holding him to her, his days-old stubble prickling against the tender flesh of her palm._

 _"See this? This is how I'll remember you, remember this." She turned in his arms, looking up into his eyes, the tenderness there such a contrast to the mask he had to wear around everyone else. The mask she had seen right through, from the beginning. No matter what he did for a living, she could see him. He was familiar to her, like she had known him all her life. Not just the weekend they had spent together._

 _"Say this is how you'll remember me," she cupped his face with both hands. "Just like this, right now."_

 _"Red lips, rosy cheeks, wind-blown hair," he whispered and leaned down, meeting her lips with his own. Gentle and undemanding, like he was sealing his promise with a kiss. "How I'll always see you."_

She walked around the room, picking up the rest of her belongings, making sure she wasn't leaving anything behind. She stopped when she came to the side of the bed. Thrown casually over the back of the chair was the vest he'd been wearing. With his clothes all over her room, he must've forgotten to pack it. She lifted it into her hands, ignoring the blood splatter on the leather, and the whiff of motor oil, gunpowder, and cigarette smoke floated past her nostrils. It stirred her, perhaps in a way that it shouldn't, and she vaguely wondered what that said about her.

 _She watched as he slung his leg over the bike, settling himself on the worn seat, molded to his shape after years of use. She could still feel his fingers tangling in her short hair, sense his hands against her skin, soft caresses, passionate embraces...the heat, the fire...they burned it down. He kicked up the stand, and after a long, indecipherable look at her, he put on his sunglasses and roared off. The plume of dust behind him blurred as tears came unbidden, clouding her vision._

The roar of the wind rushing by his ears, the rumble of the engine growling beneath him, his mind was full of everything he was leaving behind, the tires of his bike eating the miles as he left it all. Nothing but dreams trailing him, whispering to him,

"When you leave me, I bet these memories'll follow you 'round."

"Nothing lasts forever."


	2. You See Me in Hindsight

_**AN: Contains violence (nothing too graphic), mentions of violence, weapons, murder for hire, and references to implied domestic abuse.**_

* * *

"What'll it be?"

"Vodka cranberry."

"Comin' right up."

The bartender turned to fix her drink, and she looked down, checking the time on her cheap burner cell phone. Three hours to kill. She stuck the phone back in the pocket of her custom leather jacket, surreptitiously patting the thin, black throwing knives hidden in the lining. Their weight comforted her, and she turned her attention back to her surroundings. She had to be observant in her line of work, could never tell what might throw a wrench in the works. Sometimes fate lent a hand and she could make it look natural. Less heat on her back. It paid to be alert.

"One vodka cranberry."

"Thanks," she nodded, dismissing him politely, but firmly. She sipped her flavored concoction taking note of the jukebox in the corner, warbling terrible country music, and the few pot-bellied cow hands, belching and scratching as they chugged their beer and wiped the foam from their moustaches. She glanced around and, seeing the pool table in the opposite corner, she made her way over, figuring she could brush up her pool shooting skills in the meantime.

She racked the balls, chalked her cue, and took aim, lining it up smoothly and sharply, breaking with precision. Stripes it was. She played against herself, her favorite kind of competition. What better way to step up her game. Deep in concentration, she almost missed hearing him approach. The hair on the back of her neck prickled and she smelled the fresh, clean scent of Irish Spring soap mixed with cigarette smoke waft past her nostrils. She looked up into the clearest set of blue eyes she'd ever taken note of and her breath caught in her chest.

"Who's winning?" He smirked, a devilish light in his eyes as he ran them over her form, not bothering to hide it from her.

She looked at the table, perusing it a second before turning to him, "Well, it appears as if I'm winning, since I'm the only one playing." She sassed him, a cool look in her eyes, as if daring him to say something. She wasn't disappointed.

"Well, that's one way to make sure you win, I guess." He shrugged, tipping back his bottle of beer, and she allowed herself to notice the broadness of the shoulders stretching his leather jacket, and the way his adam's apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed. Her thighs clenched and she sighed. She needed to get laid. Once this job was over, she was going to take care of that problem.

"I suppose you think you can beat me?" She challenged, more so to take her mind of her errant thoughts.

"I know I can." He tossed out, matter of factly.

She walked around the corner of the table, eyeing her next shot, inspecting the angles. It's how she made her living. One thing her pop passed down to her before he went on to be with her mom, leaving her to take care of herself. Whether it was the angle of a shot from a barrel of a gun, the angle of the knife leaving her hand, or the angle of the pool stick banking a shot, and clearing the table, everything was about angles. Especially when it came to people. She prided herself on reading people, seeing beyond what they presented, and understanding what motivated them. It allowed her work each situation to her advantage. The human element, while most unpredictable, was the most important angle of all.

"Someone is certainly sure of himself."

"So I've been told. Oh wait, no…," he paused as if he was searching his memory. "No, it was, 'I'm a sure thing.' That's what I've been told."

She looked up at him from the table, and he winked at her.

"Alright, ' _sure thing,_ ' get a stick. How much?" She started picking the balls out of the pockets and rolling them across the table.

"Fifty bucks?"

She leveled her gaze at him. "You're on." She let him rack the balls and insisted he break. He took solids.

Ten minutes later she was taking aim at the eight ball.

"Eight ball, corner pocket," she called out. "I guess I should've mentioned I'm also known as a sure thing," she retorted smartly as she turned and bent over right in front of him, taking perverse pleasure in hearing him choke on his beer as she made her shot.

She collected her fifty bucks, folded it up and stuffed it in the back pocket of her tight, dark-rinse, denim jeans, absentmindedly patting the piece she had tucked in her waistband up against her black tank, reassuring herself it was safely concealed beneath her jacket.

"Double or nothin,'" he drawled, not looking a bit worried.

She cocked her head at him, "Your loss, mister."

"Name's Daryl."

"I'm Carol."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

What was he thinking? He never gave out his name while he was on a job. Stupid. He simply wasn't thinking. Well, yeah he was thinking, just not with his brain. _Damn!_ It was those jeans, that ass, that smart mouth. He was all twisted up inside. He took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down, relaxing one part of his body at a time, until he was centered again. He couldn't afford to lose track of time, or of his mission tonight.

He was simply looking for a way to pass the time, and when he noticed her in the corner, lost in the game before her, he couldn't help but to approach her. He wasn't a bit sorry, either. Except his wallet, which was somehow $200 lighter, and he wasn't sure at all how that had happened.

"One more game," he called out, when it was obvious she'd won yet again. "Let me try to win it all back." He set his beer bottle down, his third of the evening, and took his jacket off, hanging it over the barstool. He flexed and stretched his arms behind his head. Might as well play all the cards he had.

He managed to win the game, though he had a sneaking suspicion she let him when she scratched on the eight ball. She returned his money to him, fingertips grazing his hand as she placed the bills in his palm.

"You're a regular pool shark, aren't ya, lady?" He smirked, not at all gloating over his win. He was just happy not to be walking away missing $400.

"Well, I know my way around a stick," she winked at him, and turned to return her glass to the bar, paying her tab and leaving without another word, her black leather boots thudding quietly across the floor and out of the door.

* * *

Carol stared at the small photograph picturing the target she was sent to eliminate. She'd done her homework. He was the owner of one of the more wealthy vineyards in this region of the country. A real piece of work. Her superiors never gave her more than a name, but in doing her research, more often than not, she managed to find good enough reasons to justify the job in her own mind.

This particular slimebag had a laundry list of sins. Theft, bribery, and though she couldn't _prove_ it, she was pretty sure he'd been behind a few "accidents" that befell his competitors.

The kicker though, for her, was the wife. The trophy wife, the heiress, the arm candy. The fake smile plastered on her face in every photograph and news article online, but Carol could see the pain behind the act. She did a little more digging, and sure enough, the wife was a little more "accident prone" than most people. Her hospital visits over the years told a very compelling story. Carol's blood boiled, but she tamped it down. Soon enough, justice would be meted out, and he'd pay for his sins. That she would profit from it was just a bonus.

She cleaned her gun, taking her time, methodically and calmly taking it apart and putting it back together. The routine, the process, the mindless task helped to center and prepare her. She shined and sharpened her knives, ensured they wouldn't stick in their sheaths, and made a few practice throws, hitting her target dead on each time. She locked and loaded, and stuck an extra blade in her boot, just for good measure. She placed her black leather gloves in her jacket pocket so she wouldn't attract undue attention, and slipped out of her hotel room and down the street.

* * *

She approached the building quietly on foot, like a wraith in the night, avoiding any means of transportation that would call attention to her or provide any kind of trail or witness to her presence in the area.

He would be tucked away in his office, probably fudging the numbers, where he spent every Friday night, while his wife entertained the society elite. She snuck in the back door, creeping quietly down the carpeted hallway, the scent of carpet cleaner and sterile disinfectant from the night cleaning crew not quite covering the cigar smoke so thick it clouded the air. Her nose wrinkled and she held her breath to keep from inhaling the stench.

She slipped on her leather gloves, the comforting second skin like an armor protecting her, and slipped one of her knives out of its sheath. If she had the element of surprise on her side, she preferred using the knives. Something about them felt more natural to her. She was just as dangerous with her gun but it felt lazy to her.

As she approached the office, she could see the door slightly ajar. She heard light scuffing noises and she flexed, gripping her knife just so, her muscles rippling and coiling, preparing for the takedown. One hand on the doorknob she burst in smoothly and quickly, arm poised to throw, but she was brought up short by the scene in front of her.

Daryl stood over the body of the man she was supposed to eliminate. He was clad all in black, the silencer on his gun gleaming in the lamplight from the desk. His face was hard, his eyes, cold and calculating. Icy hostility hovered in the air around him. Then he looked up at her, and she saw the mask crack. She saw the layers hidden beneath, the same vulnerability she felt, the same toll each job took on her mind, body, and soul. He wore it all and yet, within a second the mask was back. His face was shuttered. He holstered his gun and moved towards her.

They stared at one another, her eyes unbelieving as she closed the door behind her and circled the edge of the desk. Before either one of them could utter a word, the door opened again.

"Hey, boss. _What the he_ -"

The red-haired man pulled a gun from a side holster but he wasn't fast enough.

 _Thud_.

The body dropped to the ground, a knife protruding from his skull. Daryl hadn't pulled his gun fast enough.

She whipped her head around glaring at Daryl and then without a word they each moved. She removed her knife, wiping the blood on the man's shirt. Daryl moved behind her, each making sure there was no trace of them left behind. They carefully staged it, without forethought or planning, and she opened a few file cabinets, pulling out folders at random and scattering them on the floor. Daryl emptied the contents of the desk, making it look as if a burglary was interrupted. Once that was complete, Carol turned and opened the ground level window and dropped a few papers on the sidewalk beneath, giving the cops a trail to follow.

They both turned and slipped into the hallway, stepping over the body in the doorway, careful not to track any blood, and exited out the back door of the building and into the alley. Daryl made sure the door was locked before they left, so no one would discover the crime until the morning shift arrived.

She darted down the sidewalk, careful to stay in the shadows, and all the while her mind raced to pore over what had just happened, examining each and every angle, trying to determine just how _fucked_ she was at this change in events.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He took off after her, unsure of what had just occurred in that building but needing to talk to her. He had questions that had to be answered, _dammit,_ or they were both in a hell of a lot of trouble. The building was supposed to have been clear. The look on her face as she quickly and efficiently dispatched the man who had burst in and surprised them both, burned in his mind replaying itself over and over again. He caught up to her as she rounded the block, and heard her whisper harshly.

" _What were you_ doing _there?"_ He could hear the fear, the anger, the tumult of emotions underlying her voice as it shook.

"Me! I could ask you the same question, lady! What _was_ that?" He stopped under the cover of an awning to a shop front, blocking her escape.

" _That_ was you ruining a job for me!" She crossed her arms over her chest, staring up at him defiantly.

That wasn't what he expected.

"Peletier or his bodyguard?"

"Peletier. Ford was just collateral damage." She was still glaring at him.

"Sonofabitch must've had a lot more enemies than I thought," he mused, almost to himself.

"We can't stand around here, we need to get out of sight." She was looking anywhere but at him, and he recognized the wisdom of what she was saying.

"C'mon," he grasped her hand and led her a few streets away to a dim parking lot, where a motorcycle sat waiting.

He climbed on, starting the bike, and Carol slipped on behind him, her jean-clad legs warmly gripping his hips. He revved the engine and they took off into the inky blackness, black leather disappearing in the night.


	3. Tangled Up With You All Night

**AN: Contains smut.**

* * *

"Who hired you?" Daryl asked, turning his head to exhale his cigarette smoke away from her face.

"I don't know."

"You don't know? What d'ya mean you don't know?" He flicked ash off the end of his cigarette butt.

"They never contact me directly. There's always a middle man. Less risk of being tied to the crime. All I get is a name." She shrugged, eyeing him, waiting to find out how bad this was going to be. "What about you? Who hired you?"

He raised his eyebrow at her and Carol rolled her eyes.

"C'mon. It's not like we both aren't in deep shit," she huffed.

"Seems like ol' Ed had a lot of enemies. One of his ex " _business partners"_ didn't take too kindly to how Ed left things between them," he dropped the butt to the asphalt and stubbed it out with the toe of his boot. "Things like a couple'a dead bodies."

"I _knew_ he was behind that!" Carol exclaimed. "So, now what? He's dead, along with someone else, and I'm out a paycheck."

She paced in front of him, deep in thought, forehead wrinkled as she contemplated everything.

"I should've took you for everything you had at the bar," she grumbled.

"I knew you let me win," he laughed and then lowered his voice, his words taking on a rough, seductive edge. "Why'd you do that?"

"I figured if I took all your money you'd remember me, and that's a risk I'd rather not take when I'm working a job."

"Hell, I hate to break it to ya, but win or lose, there's no way in hell I'd forget about you," the dark resonance of his words had a distinct carnality to them, and for the second time that night her thighs clenched in response.

"You're just going to have to, it's the only way we either one get out of this situation unscathed," she murmured, her voice soft as she stared at him, caught in his gaze.

She lowered her eyes, mesmerized as she watched his tongue dart out to wet his wind-chapped lips. He stepped closer and she felt her body tense with delicious anticipation. All of the flirting at the bar, the tension and chaos of the evening, it had all led to this point, to the culmination of all of her desire, lust, frustration, and aggravation exploding inside her. She grabbed the front of his jacket and pulled him to her, her lips crashing hungrily against his.

He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into his body, but then he broke apart the kiss.

"Are you carryin'?" He looked surprised, his eyes wide, and she could feel his hands pressing her gun into her lower back.

She laughed, "Maybe I am."

" _Damn_ , woman," he muttered as he closed the distance between them once more, his lips meeting hers in a lusty, sinful kiss, full of everything that was forbidden to them.

xxxxxxxxx

They stumbled into her hotel room, tangled up in one another, laughing, kissing, and acting like they had not a care in the world, even though that was the furthest thing from the truth. He kicked the door shut behind him and turned her, pressing her back into the wall. He lowered his head, nipping at her lips, kissing and licking as his hands gripped her hips tightly against him. So tightly she could feel his need digging into her, and that was the lit match to the gasoline in her blood.

She pushed him away, walking further into the room and grabbed a chair from beside the bed.

"Sit."

She gestured to the seat, and he raised an eyebrow, but complied, first removing his jacket and hanging it over the back of the chair. She came to stand in front of him and propped her booted foot on the edge of the chair between his legs. She smirked at him, and he raised his hands to the zipper inside her knee, dragging it down, tooth by tooth, torturously slow. When he got it all the way unzipped, he pulled from the heel, taking her foot out and holding it tenderly in his hand as he tossed the boot behind him. He kneaded the arch of her foot gently for a few seconds before lowering it to the ground and lifting her other leg, repeating the same process.

Then he looked up at her, waiting to see what else she had in mind. She peeled her own leather jacket off and he whistled at the custom holsters and sheaths she had for her knives in the lining.

"You are too dangerous, lady," he growled, and she reveled in the feeling his voice invoked in her, the heat it sent swirling and pooling low inside her.

"The biggest mistake someone can make is to underestimate me," she bent over, giving him a generous view down her shirt, and whispered in his ear, nipping at his lobe. "Don't underestimate me." She kissed his jaw and then raised back up, looking him in the eyes.

"I wouldn't dream of it," he bit out, his voice hoarse.

She pulled her gun out of the back of her waistband, ejected the magazine, emptied the chamber, and laid them both on the table next to him. The sight of her handling the gun with such surety and confidence aroused him even further, and he didn't think that was even possible at the moment.

She lifted her arms, pulling her top off, leaving her in just her lacy black bra. The delicate lace was sheer enough that he could see _everything._ Her nipples, hardened and peaked, begging to be sucked, licked. His mouth watered.

She unbuttoned her jeans and lowered the zipper, taking her time, almost as slowly as he took her boots off. She kept her eyes on him, watching how he followed her movements, how his hands clenched on his thighs, and his knuckles whitened. She shimmied the jeans down over her hips past her knees before stepping out of them, standing before him, with her hands on her hips as he looked his fill and delicious anticipation curled inside of her.

She wore matching black lace underwear. He was sure he was drooling a little bit. How his mouth could water at the same time his throat felt so dry was a mystery he was sure he'd never solve.

She approached him and his hands were drawn back to her hips. She braced her hands on his shoulders and lowered herself to straddle him, her every movement graceful and sleek, shadows in the room playing against her lean, willowy form.

She gripped the back of his neck and met his lips again, slowly and softly bringing their mouths together in a hungry kiss. Deep, soulful, and yearning, his tongue slipped in to play with hers, stroking and rubbing against her in a heated exchange, while his arms held her to his chest. The contrast of his cotton tee shirt rubbing against the sheer lace bra and her already sensitive nipples created a wicked friction that stoked the fire deep inside her. She squirmed and writhed, grinding down onto his pelvis. The coarseness of his denim jeans did nothing to soothe the ache she was feeling. In fact, it only made it worse.

Desperate to feel him against her, she dragged her hands along his sides, rucking up his shirt until she had to part from his lips to breathe and to toss the shirt behind her. He was hot like the sun, scorching her skin, branding her with his touch. Each caress, each gentle pass of his hands over her arms and back, had her almost crying with frustrated desire and need desperate to be quenched.

He was an enigma. The hard, cold, deadly exterior, icy blue eyes-every inch a killer on the outside. It all belied the incredible softness underneath his heavy armor. She could feel it. There was a sweetness to him that he kept hidden and protected. It had no place in his life or career but there it was threading itself through each kiss, as if she was pulling it from him, drawing it out of him, begging to know every part of him, to let it all be laid bare between them.

His hands fumbled at her back for a moment and then her bra was falling away from her shoulders and he was cupping her breasts, thumbs brushing like an angel's wings lightly over the sensitive peaks. She shuddered under his slight touch, feeling it in her core, in the very heart of her.

She rocked against him, trying to seal every part of her body to him, to fuse them so they couldn't tell where one began and the other ended, desperate for the connection, the closeness. Her hands moved to his belt, deftly unfastening it and unbuttoning his jeans in deliberate and sure motions, seeking out his heat, craving its touch. When she finally grazed him, his entire body shook, the rippling effect of a rock skipping over a lake. His breath sped up and stuttered, as he gasped for air between kisses. She pushed his jeans down further, bringing him out into the cool air contrasting the warmth of her hand as it slid along his hardened length in teasing strokes.

He moved his lips down her neck, along her delicate collarbones, tasting her skin, nipping and exploring in rapt adoration, drunk on the sound of her whimpers and sighs, breathy moans urging him on with abandon. His mouth closed over her breast, the soft flesh beneath him giving and molding itself to his tongue as he laved over the taut little buds, suckling, drawing life from deep within her. It wasn't enough.

Using one arm to hold her close him, he lowered his other between them, seeking out the hot wet center of her pleasure. His hand slipped in the side of her underwear, his thumb brushing over her slit, soaked with her arousal. He pressed into her folds, finding her clit with ease, and grazed over it, once, twice, her hips bucking against him with each contact. Then his thumb was gone and it was his finger, slipping inside her core, and his ears were filled with her cries, begging for more. Two fingers thrust inside and he was shaking with his need to bury himself inside of her. He removed his hand and tried to maneuver so he could reach his back pocket. She made a frustrated noise, and tried to reach for his arm again to bring him back to her.

"Just gettin' a condom, hang on," he whispered harshly, his voice strained. He managed to dig out his wallet and she grabbed it, digging the condom out and ripping the packet open.

"Someone's in a hurry," he chuckled darkly. "Careful, sweetheart."

She rolled it on and then slid her underwear aside, settling herself over him, taking him all in one smooth motion. They both groaned in pleasure at the sensation of filling and being filled. Her thighs tightened around his hips, and he squeezed her ass as she began to rock on him. Raising and lowering herself on his shaft, she quickly found a rhythm satisfying to them both.

He rested his forehead against her chest, and gripped her hips, holding himself back, restraining from thrusting up inside of her and finishing too soon. The slip and slide of her moving over him was exquisite torture, the squeezing of her walls around him a pleasure that felt so good it hurt.

She quickened her pace and he felt the tremors start, the fluttering and rippling, and he reached down once more, circling her clit with passionate yet gentle strokes. He felt her come at the same time she cried out with her release, and it was his name on her lips.

He surrendered to his own orgasm, tired of barely living in his solitary existence. His world had no room for love or attachments. It was exhausting to hold himself back, to close himself off, walled in from emotional bonds and he gave everything up in that moment, naked as he ever was, even though he was half clothed. His body and soul shook with the momentous feeling of freedom and abandon that accompanied his complete and total surrender to absolute bliss.

* * *

She could see him standing on the balcony, backlit by the moonlight, facing the ocean as he smoked a cigarette. He was a sight, hair mussed, bare chested, jeans unfastened and hanging just off his hips. She wrapped the sheet tight around her body, tucking it under her arms and joined him just outside the doorway.

"So…," she led, prompting some kind of response, hoping he'd give her some clue how to approach this unique situation. "Never done that before."

"Could've fooled me," he laughed, and she blushed.

"Not _that_ ," she gave him a look which made him laugh even more. "Never slept with another person who...shares my profession."

"Yeah, me either. Kinda puts us in a pickle, don't it?" He put his smoke out in the ashtray and tucked his arms up under his armpits.

"I don't know what to do," she said quietly, for the first time giving him a peek at her less self-assured side.

"I think we earned a few days to think about it, don't you?" He didn't wait for a response before continuing, "Job's done. Successful. Let's just enjoy this…," he gestured between them, "...whatever this is for the moment. Think about the rest of it later?" His voice almost held a pleading quality to it.

She studied him, contemplating what his angle was, what motivation he had and what could possibly come from this ill-advised liaison. There was nothing to gain, so she wondered what else was at play.

She decided to change the subject, sort of, and she moved to his side, looking out over the waves beating against the shore.

"It's better, I think," she announced.

"What's that?"

"Being with someone who knows what it's like." She kept her gaze on the shore. "I don't have to hide anything...hide who I am. I don't have to pretend to be something...more appropriate than what I am."

"Yeah," he murmured, his mind thinking back to how he had felt so free with her. So open. "Do you ever think about quitting? Just walking away from it all?"

She turned to look at him then taking in how he chewed at his bottom lip and in that instant, he looked less like a killer than she'd seen him look the entire time. He just looked...lost.

"I do." She looked back over the cliffs and the surf, the water shimmering onyx in the moonlight. "I think about it. But that's all it is. I don't know anything else," she shrugged sadly. "When I was a little girl, I always thought I'd grow up and have this perfect life. Perfect person to love and who loved me, a house, a dog, 2.5 kids...the quintessential 'American dream.' Then my mom died and I realized life was anything but perfect." She wrapped her arms around herself, warming herself more from the sudden emotions, than from the breeze coming off the water. "My dad did what he could, taught me what he knew and we got by for a while. Then he was gone and I was all alone. The dreams were just that...dreams." She turned and walked back into the room and he followed.

He knew words were incapable of helping so he kept silent, watching her move around and gathering toiletries. When she turned to enter the bathroom, he spoke up.

"You want me to go?"

She looked up, a note of surprise forming between her eyebrows. "Do you want to go?"

She noted the change, the look that came over him, the heat that entered his gaze.

"Naw, what I want is you."

"Then come and get me."

And he did.

* * *

 _Bzzzzzzzzzz_

She rolled over, picking her cell phone up and glancing at the time. _5:56 a.m._ Damn. She was tired. She thumbed it open and read the message. It was just a name.

Her next assignment.

* * *

"It will work."

"How do you know?"

"As long as we don't have any contact with each other, they can't prove anything. The job was successful. As far as they know, we each did our job," he said.

"Are you sure you want this?"

"No! This ain't what I want," he grasped her shoulders, "but it's what keeps you safe. It's what gets you a paycheck."

"I don't want you to go."

He wrapped his arms around her.

"Nothin' good ever lasts forever, sweetheart, and you're the best thing that's ever happened to me."


	4. Let's Get Out of This Town

"Ya wanna tell me why we're meeting here?"

Daryl's boots thudded against the aged, salt-soaked, creaking slats of the pier, coming to a stop a decent distance from the rough man with a shaved head. He didn't look at him, instead he turned to face out at the few surfers enjoying the morning tide.

"You wanna tell me why I got the feds crawling up my ass over your last job?" Shane was agitated, unable to keep still, and he was pacing back and forth beside the wooden bench.

"The feds?" That threw Daryl for a loop.

"Yeah. F. B. I." Shane enunciated each letter, he face screwed up in anger. "I just had a nice little visit from Special Agent Grimes, asking about the murder of one Ed Peletier...and his bodyguard, Abraham Ford."

Daryl wished he had a smoke on him right then, but he left them in his jacket on the bike. He settled for chewing on his thumb, a nervous habit he'd never quite been able to break.

"Why's there another body, Daryl?" Shane's voice was low, threatening.

"Building was s'posed to be clear. Peletier should've been alone...but he wasn't. Ford walked in and saw, pulled his gun...didn't have a choice. I handled it. Fixed the scene; looked like any other interrupted burglary."

"Yeah, well, apparently it wasn't handled or I wouldn't have the law up my ass. There shouldn't be any reason for it to be on their radar!" He whirled to point in Daryl's face. "You were supposed to make sure it couldn't come back on me!"

"There shouldn't be any reason for it to come back on ya!" Daryl was getting irritated, at the situation, at Shane, at himself. Everything about this job had been fucked from the beginning. Now there were feds in on it. Carol. Shit! "I got a guy. I'll find out why they're on the case...what they know." Daryl turned to walk away and he could still hear Shane's growls behind him.

"You better, Dixon. Because if I go down, I'm takin' you with me."

"I'll be in touch," Daryl called over his shoulder, flipping the man off as he walked back to his bike.

* * *

"How can you find anything in this mess?" Daryl lifted up two empty old pizza boxes, topped with three Chinese food containers, and walked them to the garbage.

"It's controlled chaos," Glenn hollered to him from the bedroom he used as an "office." "I know where everything is, and everything has a place."

"Whatever, man," Daryl said as he walked into the room with a Coke in one hand and a cigarette in the other. "Can you help me or not?"

"I'm your guy, but it's not gonna be easy. Or fast. Those kind of firewalls are a bitch to crack."

"How much time? I'm kinda operatin' on a tight schedule, here."

"Give me forty-eight hours."

Glenn was already clacking away on his keyboard, lines of code drifting across the screen. It all looked like gibberish to Daryl so he bid his goodbyes to Glenn and left.

* * *

As Daryl headed back to the modest one bedroom condo he kept on the edge of the city, his mind drifted to Carol and he wondered where she was and what she was doing. He wished he had a way to get a hold of her and warn her about the feds investigating the murders. Maybe he could try to track her down, if she hadn't gotten too far.

He opened the door and was greeted by a black cat rushing up to him and winding itself between his legs, purring a greeting to him.

"Miss me, Rocco? You miss me? Huh?"

The cat nosed against his pants leg, and he knelt down to pet him. "Punk," he said as the cat swiped at him with his paw. He got up and made his way to his laptop, opening up the search engine and trying to learn what he could about the woman who had waltzed into his life and shot it full of holes.

Three hours later, he was no closer to finding her than when he started. Stretching, he got up and scrounged around in the kitchen, making himself a sandwich. He plugged in his cell phone for work, and took his personal one with him to the couch. He flipped on the television for some white noise and sat back, propping his feet on the coffee table.

He was zoned out, halfway to sleeping when the news program caught his attention. He grabbed the remote and turned up the volume.

"Police this evening are working with Federal Investigators to discover who was behind the murders of Edward Peletier, vintner at one of the state's largest wineries, and Peletier's bodyguard, Abraham Ford. Their bodies were discovered at the main offices of Peletier Vineyards less than a week ago.

Production at the plant has ceased until the F.B.I. releases the crime scene, and steps can be taken to replace Peletier.

We'll bring you more as the story develops."

Dixon slumped back, muting the television. This was one of those times where he wished he had a normal job, one he could talk about with other people.

Carol. She'd understand. She might be the only person who'd understand exactly everything he was feeling. But she was the one person he shouldn't be confiding in. Sharing feelings distracted you. Got you off your game. Made you make mistakes.

He shook his head and turned the program off, heading to bed. It was early, but he was exhausted and he hoped he'd be able to come up with a plan when his mind was well rested.

* * *

Up early the next morning, Daryl was enjoying his morning cup of coffee and a smoke, watching the sunrise from his balcony, when he heard his phone ring from the bedroom. He went inside and checked the caller ID.

"Glenn, thought you needed 48 hours."

"I am a master of my craft, what can I say," Glenn said, his voice laced with pride and arrogance.

"What'd you find?"

"It's better not to say over the phone. Meet me here in an hour. And bring the payment we talked about, okay?"

"Gotcha. One hour. See you then."

Daryl hung up and hurried to get a shower, eager to find out what Glenn had discovered.

* * *

"Here's what I found," Glenn said, as he handed Daryl a folder containing a thick stack of papers. Daryl opened the folder.

"Oh, shit!"

"Yeah, 'shit' is right. I'd say you stepped in a big pile of it, dude."

Daryl flipped through the papers, his stomach tightening in knots with each turning of a page. He reached in his back pocket and tossed Glenn a envelope with a stack of bills. Then he got out his wallet and handed him a few more.

"That's for doing a 'lil somethin' extra for me. I need you to keep an eye on this case. Let me know if you see anything about a woman. Short silver hair, blue eyes. Or any murders with knife wounds like Ford's? Just tell me if anything else pops up, okay?"

Glenn raised his eyebrows at the mention of Carol, and Daryl tossed him a few more bills.

"And this is for not askin' questions."

"Alright man. And hey," he called out as Daryl was leaving, "watch your back."

Daryl nodded and left, folder in one hand, and pulling out his burner phone with the other. He pressed the redial, and waited for the person to answer.

"Hey," the voice spoke in a terse one word greeting.

"We need to meet."

* * *

"So, let me get this straight. Ford was working for the feds?"

"Yep," Daryl answered, lighting his cigarette while Shane looked through the material.

"And he knew that Ed was behind my guys' deaths?"

"Appears so."

"So, they decided I'm the one with a motive. Revenge, they think." Shane rubbed his hand over his head in frustration.

"They were investigating Peletier for embezzlement, fraud, and a few other things when Ford heard about Andrew and Tomas. He was trying to gather enough incriminating evidence. That must've been why he showed up that night when he wasn't supposed to be there."

"Fuck! This is worse than I thought. No way the feds will turn their backs on one of their own gettin' offed."

"I've got someone keepin' an eye on the case, to see which way it blows. Just stick to your story. You got an airtight alibi, right?"

"I was out of town with my wife. Stayed at a bed and breakfast upstate."

"Just hang on to the receipts and don't transfer my fee until after we figure this out." Shane nodded his head as Daryl spoke.

"Dixon, just remember one thing. If they come after me, it's gonna come around to you. I haven't forgotten about Atlanta. You better fix this."

"I'm on it. Just keep to your end of the deal." Daryl grabbed up the folder and set his mind to once again finding some way to warn Carol.


	5. This is Gonna Take Me Down

**AN: Contains a murder and murder scene. Nothing to graphic, but I wanted you to be aware. Also, contains mentions of human trafficking.**

* * *

"You said to tell you if anything popped up on the case." Glenn's voice was muffled as if he were speaking through cotton.

"Whatcha got?" Daryl paced in his living room feeling like he was walking on hot coals.

"They've started looking for an accomplice."

"What?" Daryl's stomach dropped like lead at the news.

"They've branched out. Case notes say they're concluding two people were responsible given the wounds were from two different weapons, but they died so close together. They've put a red flag on any and all stabbing deaths, looking for wounds that match the one to your victim's head." Glenn sounded nervous, like he wasn't sure how Daryl was going to take the news. "Just thought you'd wanna know."

"Yeah, I...I do. Thanks. I'll send you a lil' somethin' to keep an eye on it for me. I know you're really puttin' yourself out there. I appreciate it, man."

"No problem. Later."

Daryl hung up the phone, and for the first time in many years he craved a stiff, hard drink. Whiskey. He hadn't had a sip of the hard stuff since Atlanta. He wasn't about to start that up again. He needed to keep his cool. A clear head. Think of a plan...and somehow get a message to Carol to lay off her knives.

It should be easy. Right?

* * *

Carol crept along the side street, keeping to the shadows and making herself as small and unnoticeable as possible.

This guy was dangerous. Everything she had turned up on him had actually made her sick to her stomach. It was pretty clear he had a line in some of the local drug trafficking pressing even young children into being mules. Bastard. But the worst...the worst was the evidence he was actually involved in human trafficking. He used the intra-coastal train lines to get them to ports where they were then shipped overseas, and she didn't want to even consider what would happen then. She would be glad to get rid of this piece of inhuman scum.

She waited silently, like a mountain lion crouches stalking its prey.

 _Gareth West_. Prey indeed. More like the predator.

She was adjusting her gloves when the sound of a motor, a loud roar of a motorcycle, caught her attention. She stepped out slightly, turning to look to where the sound was coming from. Her breath caught and she felt chills run up and down her spine, gooseflesh breaking out on her skin.

He wore a leather jacket, just sitting there on a bike. She could see the orange flame of a lighter and then smoke billowing up from his mouth. It couldn't be. She had to be imagining it. Wish so hard for something and it appears, right? She closed her eyes and counted to ten. She was just seeing things.

Opening her eyes, she huffed when he was still there, straddling the bike. It was then she noted that his shoulders weren't as broad, his hair not as long. He whipped his leg as he swung off the bike, and then she was sure. That was not his ass.

She couldn't believe she let herself get distracted. That was a foolish, amateur mistake. Dammit. She ignored the disappointed feeling that settled deep in her bones. Paid no attention to the liquid edging the eyelashes on her lower lids. She mentally kicked her own ass told herself to pull it together.

She slid back into place and noticed her target leaving the building. Shit! She was so caught up in daydreaming about her biker guy, that she missed her opportunity. The goal was a gunshot wound and make it look like a mugging. If he got away from here, that plan was out the window.

Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself for what she was about to do. As the car pulled into the alley, she stepped out in front of it.

"Please! Can you help me?" Carol limped across the road. "I need to call someone."

The sincerity and pleading in her voice, pain in her features all combined to create the perfect picture of helplessness.

The car came to a stop and Carol stepped carefully, walking around the front of the car and favoring one foot as she approached his window. He had rolled it down and was looking at Carol with a speculative gleam in his eye.

"Can I use your phone, mister? I need to call my sister to take me to the hospital." She grimaced, hoping she was convincing enough, and saw him turn to the seat beside him.

With one hand on the car, she reached behind her and grabbed her gun out of its holster. He turned to hand her the phone, surprising her, just as she was raising the gun, but before she could pull the trigger he slammed her arm against the door and using his fist, knocked the gun between them in the floorboard of his car.

Carol panicked. It had only taken a split second and everything was fucked. No plans, no time to think. She could only react.

He was reaching for the gun, and with her free arm she snatched a knife from her jacket and buried it in his arm, freeing her wrist from his grasp. His scream echoed through the streets for a second before she sliced with the knife, silencing him permanently.

She stood there for a second, her chest rising and falling in quick, short breaths. The adrenaline pumping through her was making her shake and she almost dropped the knife.

That was so close. Too close. She knelt forward, hands on her knees as she fought her gag reflex, and the bile rising in her throat.

She took a deep breath, inhaling slowly for several seconds, holding it, and then exhaling through her mouth. That was all she allowed herself in order to calm down before she gingerly opened the door. Reaching around him she grabbed his cell phone and then dug in his pockets for his wallet. She couldn't spend too much time here in case someone saw her, but she managed to snatch the expensive GPS system, and emptied the glove box, scattering some of the papers in the floor. Mostly satisfied with the scene, she reached down to retrieve her gun from the pool of blood in the floor.

She closed the door and slipped back into the shadows, making her way quietly and carefully back towards her vehicle.

This was why it was a bad idea to form any kind of attachments. It messed with your head, distracted you. And tonight she almost paid for that mistake with her life. Never had she botched a job as bad as this one. At least it had been completed, but damn, it was a mess. She thought she had staged the scene well enough that the mugging theory would still hold up, but she was smart enough to know her chances on that were 50/50 at best.

 _If it hadn't been for him..._

No, she wasn't going down that road. She wouldn't regret the time Daryl and she spent together, no matter what happened. That had been the happiest time of her life since her parents passed. She felt light, free to be herself, and relieved to not have to hide anything from him. For the first time she hadn't been alone and she hated to go back to how it was before. Now that she knew what she was missing, she didn't want to go without.

 _I'm going to find him._

* * *

Daryl was at the supermarket picking up some fixings for sandwiches, his staple meal, and some cat food and kitty litter for Rocco when he felt the sensation of being watched. He casually glanced around, perusing the shelves to give him an excuse to examine his surroundings.

"Daryl." The whisper, low though it was, startled Daryl and he whipped around to see Glenn standing next to him, showing intense interest in bread crumbs and baking powder.

" _Fuck! Don't sneak up on me like that_!" Daryl matched his whisper, anger lacing his words.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. I just thought you would want to know this, and I didn't want there to be any phone records or paper trail. You know, for what you do, you're surprisingly easy to find."

"Whatever, man. Whatcha got that requires all this cloak and dagger shit?"

Glenn turned and placed a bottle of olive oil and balsamic vinegar in his basket.

"They're looking into a murder over in the next county. Grisly thing. Guy was stabbed in the arm and his throat was slit," Glenn said, his mouth closing and throat working like he was holding back the urge to puke.

"Okay. What about it tripped their trigger?"

"Striations on the wounds match the ones on Ford. They think they have a bead on the accomplice. There was a witness who said he saw a lady in black in the alley right before time of death."

 _Shit! Shit! Fuck! Shit! Dammit, Carol!_

"Alright man, thanks. I need to get out of here. I owe ya."

He turned to leave but then paused, examining the contents of Glenn's basket. There were bread crumbs, EVOO, vinegar, condensed milk, pecans, onion powder, and jello mix. He raised an eyebrow, looking at Glenn.

" _What the fuck are you cooking?"_


	6. Heaven Can't Help You Now

_**Sunday Morning, 9:17 a.m.**_

She could smell the fire before she arrived at the scene. Blackened pillars of smoke billowed up through the ravine and clouded the air all around them. She pulled the car off the side of the road before reaching the bridge. Gravel and dust spit from the tires as she rolled to a stop next to the barricade.

The stench of burning gasoline and oil made her eyes water as she got out of her car. She approached the edge of the caution tape and could just barely see the jagged wreckage mangled on the rocks below, engulfed in flames. The uniform guarding the scene held up his hand, asking for I.D., and she showed him her badge.

"Who's the agent in charge right now?" She asked, cutting right to the chase.

"Um, that would be...that...Um...Agent Grimes. Yes, Agent Grimes is in charge," the officer said, sputtering, intimidated by the beautiful and formidable woman standing before him. He pointed in the direction of a large SUV and she made her way over.

"Agent Grimes?" She held out her hand to introduce herself. "I'm Special Agent Michonne Williams."

"It's Special Agent Grimes," he said, putting emphasis on the 'special.' "How d'ya do?" He shook her hand brusquely. "What are you doing here?"

"While you've been focused on finding Ford's killer, I've been on the trail of a string of murders."

"What does that have to do with this case?" He was puzzled.

"All of the murders used the same weapon and had the same wound pattern. Up until now there have been no deviations. Our superiors pulled me in the loop when the same kind of weapon was used in killing Ford. You know Gareth West?"

"I've heard of him. Nasty guy. Never could get the evidence they needed to put him away. Why?" The seemingly abrupt switch in topics knocked him off-kilter.

"He was killed this past week. Want to guess how?" She looked at him and he noticed her eyes were brown. Warm, intelligent, and all too perceptive.

"The same kind of knife?" He set his hands on his hips and tilted his head, gazing at her. He was starting to get one of his migraines. The tension was tightening and pounding behind his eyes. The stress of this job sometimes made him feel like he was fracturing into pieces.

She nodded

"So, what's that mean?" He asked.

She cocked her head, looking at him like the answer was obvious and he shouldn't even have to ask.

"It means we're on the same case now."

"You like this guy for the murders?" Rick questioned her while looking through his jacket pocket for some Advil.

"Do you? I don't know. Something about it just isn't coming together for me. The sudden differences in M.O., failing to finish a kill...it screams sloppy to me, and the killer I've been chasing is anything but sloppy. It's all too easy...tied up in a neat bow."

"Well he did go after Walsh with a knife - description of it matched the weapon used on Ford, and his prints were on the scene."

They were interrupted by one of the officers coming up with the coroner.

"Agent Grimes, they're bringing the body up." The young officer strode over while the coroner's vehicle backed up as close to the edge as possible.

Rick turned to the coroner. "Can you give me anything based on what you saw?"

"I can't say anything on the record until I do the autopsy," the official responded, "but with the state of the body, I'll have to use dental records to make a positive I.D."

"Damn," Rick muttered.

Michonne wrinkled her nose. No matter how this job affected her, how cynical and jaded she could be, or how many bodies she had seen, the thought of a person dying in that manner pulled at her heartstrings. Hopefully, it had been quick.

* * *

 _ **Two Days Earlier**_

Shane was in the middle of cleaning his gun when Daryl approached the old wooden picnic bench. They decided to meet in the back acreage of an old park, decrepit swing sets rusted through, and grass and weeds slowly overtaking the man made equipment. Nature was taking back what was hers.

The pieces of the firearm were laid out before him on an old cloth where Shane methodically inspected each part.

"So you said you had a plan?" Shane motioned for Daryl to sit.

Daryl nodded. "What if I told you I had a way to make sure this case was closed and you were no longer a suspect?"

"I'm listenin'."

Daryl had thought long and hard about the options that lay before him. He could only come up with one conclusion. All roads led to the same outcome. One or both of them would go down for the hit on Ford. No one really cared about Ed. He just had to make sure none of it ever came back on Carol. He had to keep her name and her part in this fiasco a secret, both from the Feds and from the unpredictable man sitting in front of him.

He wasn't sure where this whole protective surge had come from, but he just felt like they were one and the same. They both knew what the life was like, how lonely it was. He didn't want her to spend it in even more isolation, locked up in some cell where her vibrant soul would wither and die. He didn't want her dreams of what life should be to become even more disillusioned. He wanted her to have a chance to be free from this life of solitude. To flourish and grow and be the radiant shining person he could see inside.

He laid the plan out before Shane, willing himself not to show any nerves. The slightest hint of hesitance or wavering might make Shane rethink the whole thing. It was going to be tricky and had to be pulled off at just the right time. He had a lot of ducks to get in a row before he set the plan into motion. He was going to need Shane's cooperation. No way around it.

"It just might work. You sure you wanna do this?"

Daryl nodded again, and slapped his hands on his thighs, rubbing the sweat off on his jeans.

"I'm gonna need some names, though. I don't have the resources I'm gonna need."

Shane rubbed his chin and thought it over. "I know a couple 'a guys. Oscar'll be the main one you want to see." Shane pointed his finger at Daryl. "It ain't gonna be cheap."

"I figured. I can handle it."

"Oscar's ol' lady can handle the rest. She's real good. Name's Jacqui. I'll let him know to be expectin' you and text you the address."

"Alright, man." Daryl got up to leave and Shane stopped him with a word.

"Daryl." Shane waited for him to turn around. "If this all goes down the way we're hopin', well, I just wanna say it was good workin' with ya."

Daryl snorted, "Don't get all sentimental and shit on me, now. We both know that ain't you."

"Yeah, you're right." Shane laughed and Daryl turned once more to leave. He had a lot to do.

* * *

Daryl was led into the pristine villa on the coast by a well dressed gentleman, guiding him to an open courtyard in the center of the house. Well manicured shrubs, plants, and flowers burst with jewel-like colors, shimmering in the sunlight cascading over the area.

Oscar and Jacqui were seated on a wrought iron loveseat, cushioned with fluffy sage pillows. Oscar's arm was around the beautiful lady at his side and he was feeding her a strawberry from a bowl of fruit when Daryl was ushered in.

"Dixon!" Oscar greeted Daryl with a wide smile. "Shane said you needed some help with a 'project.'"

"Yeah, uh, he said you might be able to help me out with a particular situation. I need someone with your, uh, 'qualifications.'" Daryl rubbed his hand on the back of his neck. Everything hinged on this part of the plan.

"Have a seat," Oscar said, as he pointed to the chair across from him. "Tell me what you need."

Daryl lined it all out and Oscar sat back thoughtfully. "That's quite a mess you got there." Oscar stroked his goatee and turned to Jacqui. "Whatcha think sweetie? Think we can help him?"

"I think we can give you what you need, honey. But it's gonna cost you." Jacqui leaned forward and picked up another strawberry off of the platter. "Give me twenty four hours, and I'll have it all ready."

Daryl sighed. He felt like the weight on his shoulders just got a bit lighter. He could still feel it; it wasn't completely gone. It was less, though, than it had been for the last couple of days.

Oscar stood, as did Daryl, and they shook hands, cementing the deal.

"It's gotta be cash, though." Oscar murmured as he leaned forward to pat Daryl on his shoulder. Daryl backed away, thanking them and looked at the small card in the palm of his hand with a name written on it. "We'll see you tomorrow," Oscar said, dismissing Daryl, and turned his attention back to his wife.

* * *

 _ **Saturday night 10:47 p.m.**_

The house was dark and silent, eerily portending what was to come tonight. The wife was out to the theater with some friends, he remembered as he crept down the gleaming hardwood floors. He headed towards the small office Shane kept at his house for when he worked weekends. The light shone from beneath the door. _Perfect._

His bare hand gripped the knife as his other hand silently turned the doorknob. Shane's back was to him as he flipped through some file folders. His steps were noiseless as he came up behind the man and wrapped his arm around his neck.

Shane startled, but quickly recovered and threw his head back, hitting his assailant in the nose. It was enough to throw them both off balance and Shane turned to see the person behind him.

"Daryl!"

"Surprise, motherfucker."

Shane leaned over his desk, trying to reach the drawer when he felt Daryl's knife slice into his bicep. He grabbed the gun he kept in his desk, turning and shooting.

The bullet winged Daryl, crippling his fighting arm. The knife fell from his fingers as Shane fired another shot. He managed to reach the door and pull it closed just as a bullet hit the doorframe next to him and wood splintered in the air. He ran down the hallway, his arm dripping blood and staining the wood floor beneath his feet.

In his office, Shane wrapped a bandage around his wound before pulling a card from his wallet and placing it on the desk before him, Agent Rick Grimes' phone number staring up at him in bold, black letters. Glancing at his watch he noted the time and began his wait.


	7. Some Day When You Leave Me

**AN: Thank you Meeshie for being the best beta a girl could ask for, xoxo!**

* * *

Carol sat in the internet cafe silently clicking through various pages on the web, searching for the man who had ruined her concentration, thrown a wrench in her plans, and who had been plaguing her thoughts ever since they parted ways at the hotel. She was seated in the back, facing the store entrance so she was alert to who came and went. Her slouchy knit hat shadowed her face and she remained as invisible as possible, blending into the background of the hipster and bohemian crowd patronizing the cafe.

She had a few clues to work with: Daryl was working for an ex-business partner of Peletier, and there were some deaths surrounding this man and Ed. She began by looking into Peletier business dealings over the past year. She assumed it had to be something recent. The likelihood of someone waiting years to exact revenge was extremely low. She already had a general idea on how he ran business based on her own research, but now she needed to branch out into his associates.

Making a list of his known associates, she then cross-referenced those names with any deaths in the news recently, and came up with two hits: Shane Walsh and Juan Morales. Clicking her pen on the gleaming wooden countertop, gears whirring in her mind, she made plans to pay each of them a nice little "visit."

* * *

She dug into the back of her closet, pulling out every duffel bag and suitcase she owned and filling them with her clothes, shoes, and toiletries. She packed up the few sentimental items she kept: her dad's Medal of Honor from his years of service, her mom's wedding album, and her grandmother's pearls. She lined a shoebox with tissue paper and placed the items carefully in the container.

Her fingers delicately caressed each precious item, allowing herself moments to remember. There had been happiness in her life before. Smiles, sunshine, and laughter. Love. Then it was just _gone_.

She idly wondered if Daryl kept items like this. Some sentimental token, a symbol of reality before the "job" became all important and consumed everything. Nothing would surprise her about him. He wore a steely armor but underneath he was softness and sweetness. He just had to hide it away, protect it. There were those in their circles who would take his hidden, gentle nature as a weakness and use it against him. Twist it and warp it until it was beyond repair, hardened and calloused just like they were.

She shook her head, bringing herself back to the present and placed a folder with all her important papers on top. Carol sealed the box with packing tape, taking great care with the container, for the items it housed were the most precious belongings she owned. Worth more to her than all the riches this world had to offer.

She gazed around the small studio apartment. There wasn't much there to mark the space as hers. It was better that way. To live sparsely and frugally, and not put stock in material possessions. Things you would have to leave behind eventually _...people._ The life of loneliness spilled out even into her decorating choices, she mused. The bare walls glaring in their stark emptiness.

She wanted to leave it all behind. Start fresh. Just walk away and start over, like Daryl said. But was it that simple? Would her past haunt her?

She mulled it over as she dug into cleaning the small space, eliminating any trace she was ever even there with bleach, furniture polish, and a mop and bucket. Maybe there was a place she could go. Where no one would ever find her, where she could begin a new life.

The thing was-she didn't want to do it alone.

The last things she packed were her weapons. She sheathed her knives, strapped on her gun, slid her boots up over her calves and with one last look around the desolate apartment, she shut the door, determined never to look back. One last thing to do, and she was finished.

* * *

Juan Morales was a dead end. He knew absolutely nothing. In and out like a ghost, she had questioned him and then left and his sleeping family was none the wiser, although he might've been down half a bottle of whiskey by now, as frightened as he had been. She could always tell with people. See beneath their masks, and so she knew he was telling the truth, and that deep down he was a good man. An honorable man.

The next man on her list, she wasn't so sure.

Shane Walsh was a slimy sonofabitch. She could already tell, just from what she knew about him, and her insides twisted at the thought of Daryl caught up in business with this man. Of course she didn't know him all that well, so it was reasonably possible this was exactly the kind of man Daryl would surround himself with...except that she didn't believe that for a second.

* * *

It was hot as balls outside. That was the uppermost thought in Shane's mind as he trudged up the grassy hill towards the parking lot, sweat dripping down the back of his neck, and bits of grass sticking to his loafers. His polo shirt was clinging to his damp skin, aggravating the bandage on his arm and worsening his mood even further. He couldn't wait to get out of the heat and sun.

The soccer game was over, and his boy's team had won. There were no losers in _his_ family. No room for failure. He wouldn't have it any other way.

His wife had taken the lumbering mini-van and the kids out for ice cream to celebrate the victory and he was grateful. He hated driving that thing. His shiny Beemer sat waiting for him in the shade at the back of the lot. Far away from where it might get banged, dented, or scratched. Appearances had to be maintained.

Air-conditioned relief was just a few feet away. He opened the door, sliding into the car, the leather seats squelching and sticking to his sweat-soaked skin. He shut the door and started the engine, turning the vents to blow cool air directly on him. He put his hand on the gear shift but before he put the car into gear, he felt the cold, razor-thin, sharp edge of a knife against his throat, pricking his skin until a thin drop of blood appeared and trickled down his neck, joining the sweat, and staining the collar of his shirt.

"You left your door unlocked. That was pretty...trusting." Her chilly voice was just as cutting as the blade pressed into his skin.

"What do you want?" Shane asked. He swallowed, his voice hoarse from stark fear, and his adam's apple caught on the knife as it bobbed, reminding him this woman held his life in her hands.

"Tell me about Daryl," she demanded. "Where is he? Where can I find him?"

Those weren't exactly the words he was expecting to come out of her mouth.

"Who? I don't know any Daryl." Shock colored his response, but couldn't conceal the truth.

" _Where is he?"_ She didn't yell, in fact her voice lowered until she was almost whispering, but the steel edge in her question and the second drop of blood on his skin as she pricked him once more clearly outlined the violence she was capable of if he didn't cooperate.

He trembled and gave in, unable to pretend ignorance any longer.

"I don't know," Shane said, as he pushed his sleeve up over his bicep, "but he left me with this the last time I seen him. So I don't rightly care where he is right now."

Carol barely glanced at the bandage on his arm, unwilling to take her attention off of the sweaty man in front of her.

"When was that?"

"Friday night. He attacked me like I said. I shot at him and he fled. Now the Feds are after him, so I'm steering clear of that mess."

That _did_ shock Carol. "Why are the Feds involved?"

"Don't know. Why doncha look it up?" He smarted off to her and regretted it the second he did. He needed to keep his temper under control. Not fly off the handle.

He barely felt the relief of the knife leaving his throat before something hard hit him in the back of the head, and everything went black.

* * *

" _Police and Federal Investigators are here tonight at the scene of a motorcycle crash that happened on Interstate 90. Oscar Douglas, Chief Medical Examiner, has confirmed that the victim was 38 year-old Daryl Dixon. Law enforcement officers had been searching for Dixon as a person of interest in connection with the deaths of Edward Peletier and Abraham Ford."_

 _"_ _ **Physical evidence ties the suspect to several other murders in and around the state, including that of Gareth West, notorious crime lord. We have reason to believe Dixon was involved in and may have been responsible for these deaths.**_ _**The investigation is still ongoing but we look forward to being able to close these cases soon, and bring closure to the families of the victims."**_

 _That was Special Agent Michonne Williams of the F.B.I. giving a statement to the press early this morning. We will keep you apprised of any new developments. Back to you, Clive."_

Carol paused the video she was watching online, a previously recorded newscast. She couldn't believe it. She didn't understand it. He didn't commit those murders. She did. What was happening? And now... _now_?

He was dead.


	8. Memories Follow You Around

**AN: Thank you to Meeshie for looking this over for me, and to Illusianation for her everlasting support!**

* * *

 _ **One Year Later**_ …

"One grande, non-fat, no-whip caramel macchiato," Carol called out as she set the coffee on the raised counter that separated her from the line of customers.

"What did you think?" Alisha asked her as she rang up the next customer.

"They were okay," Carol answered, shrugging as she mixed the iced tea lemonade for the next person in line.

"Just okay? C'mon, you can do better than that. _Piefight_ is the first band Tara and I went to see when we started dating. They are the shit!"

"I liked them. When are they performing next? I wouldn't mind seeing them again."

"I think they have a show next Saturday." Alisha's face screwed up in concentration, thinking, looking like she was trying to recall the exact order of presidents from first to last.

"Oh, well, I won't be in town, but maybe the next time, I can go."

"Where're you going, again?"

Carol turned her face away so Alisha couldn't see her face, in case she couldn't conceal her feelings as much as she would like.

"Just a couple hours down the coast. A nice, little...beach getaway," Carol choked out, speaking around the lump that appeared in her throat, and the stinging sensation in her eyes that threatened tears if she didn't get herself together.

"Oooooo, a beach getaway, huh? Meeting someone special?" Alisha pressed, her voice lilting with a hint of secrecy, as if they were sharing details about some illicit liaison.

Carol let out a breath, thankful that the woman hadn't caught on to the emotion bleeding through Carol's voice and demeanor. Carol coughed, clearing her throat and replied.

"Nope, no one special, just needed a little time to myself. Rest and relax, that kinda thing."

"That'll be good for you. You've been too tense lately. If you were anyone else, I'd suggest you needed to get laid." Alisha laughed as if she'd told the funniest joke, missing how Carol tensed at the words and her posture straightened.

"Yeah," Carol muttered. "It probably wouldn't hurt." She handed the next drink over the counter and changed the subject. "What did you think of book club on Wednesday?"

Alisha made a dismissive noise and snorted in derision.

"I think Deanna's full of shit, is what I think. Her 'insights' were nothing but a medley of internalized, homogenized bullshit."

Carol listened as Alisha went off on a tirade about the book they were reading and tried to pay attention, no matter how her mind tried to slip into the melancholy she was prone to when she thought about Daryl.

It had been a year, and it that time her life had changed drastically. She had moved several states away, got a couple part time jobs, and made friends. She had decorated her apartment. She was a completely different woman than the one who had played pool with a stranger in a bar a year ago. And for the most part, she was happy with her life now.

 _Except when she thought of him._

It was Daryl who had made it all possible. With his death, she had the opportunity to start over, to wipe her slate clean, and she had taken full advantage of the chance to change her situation. She hadn't realized until she had moved, and put herself out there to make friends (which is how she met Alisha and Tara) exactly how lonely she was in her old life. How starved she had been for companionship. That's probably why, she figured, she had fallen for Daryl so hard and so quickly and hadn't been able to leave him behind as easily as the rest of her past.

That was the main reason she was taking this trip to their beach, to the hotel where they had stayed that weekend. She was going to get some closure, some peace of mind, to bury that last piece of the woman she had been, in the hopes she could at last move forward. Alisha was right. She probably did need to be laid, but she couldn't bring herself to be with another man like that. Not since Daryl. She hoped with closure, she would be freeing herself to find happiness with someone else, in that way.

She closed her eyes for a moment, and she could still see, just as clear as the day he left, the sight of his broad shoulders and lean waist riding off on his motorcycle, dust kicking up beneath his tires. His clear, piercing blue eyes, penetrating in their intensity, as he waved goodbye to her.

"Carol!"

"Huh? What?" Carol jerked seeing Alisha staring at her.

"Did you hear what I said?"

"Uh, no, sorry, I-"

"Dude, you really do need a vacation. I'm going on break, can you cover me?" Alisha interrupted and grabbed a cup of ice water, heading to the back.

"Tell Tara I said 'Hi'," Carol called out to her as the door shut behind her.

 _One more week, just one more week._

* * *

Carol stood on the balcony overlooking the shore, watching the tide, the water caressing the sand with each wave that flowed inward. The salty sea air took her right back to that night, and she closed her eyes, imagining his fingertips brushing her bare shoulders. His work-worn hands flowed over her heated flesh, every touch burning and branding permanently in her memory.

She opened her eyes and watched the sun dip down, kissing the horizon, and shimmering brightly, reflected on the ocean's surface. She turned back to her room, deciding to change and take a walk along the beach. She would remember him, honor him, cherish the life that he had made possible for her to have, and then she would set fire to the last remaining piece of the Carol she used to be.

She opened her suitcase and her hands met the cool leather of his jacket. She had packed it on a whim, and decided it would remain here when she left. Carol lifted it, imagining it still held the warmth from his body and the scent of him clinging to the fabric. It was a silly, little wish. Hoping to smell him one last time. She folded it on the bed and pulled out the ivory linen dress she packed, showering and changing quickly before heading out on her walk.

She had removed her sandals and walked along the beach, feeling the wet sand squish between her toes, and the water lap at her ankles with each wave that crashed against the shore. It was peaceful, beautiful. She looked ahead to the small, beachfront bar owned by the hotel. It was so rustic, the atmosphere so tropical almost.

Twinkling lights were strung across the top of a wooden planked "dance floor," casting a dim, romantic glow over everything. Local artists played music on their acoustic guitars, and several couples swayed to the songs. She approached the bar and ordered a beer, moving to stand off to the side and watch the water.

She moved closer to the beach, away from the lights, and listened to the sounds of the ocean and the music blend together in the most symphonic melody as she closed her eyes. It poured over her, and she allowed the memories to flood her, accepting the stinging tears that came with them. She surrendered to the emotions, letting the past hold sway over her mind, reliving each precious moment of that fateful weekend. She smiled a watery smile when she thought of beating him at pool, taking his money and watching the indignant look cross his face.

Taking a swig of her beer, she turned to make her way back to the bar, thinking she would take a spot at one of the tables and soak in the atmosphere for a little while before going back to her room. Carol looked up to make sure she didn't run into any of the people who were dancing, oblivious to her as she walked. She froze in her steps when her gaze landed on the man across the sand.

There was no way. Her eyes were playing tricks on her. It was a figment of her imagination. The result of her reliving her past in detail tonight as she trudged through the sand. She closed her eyes, shaking her head and whispering to herself.

" _He's not real. He's not real."_

She opened her eyes, and looked back to where the man was now walking towards her.

 _Daryl._


	9. Burning It Down

_**AN: Thank you to Meeshie for being the best Alpha a girl can have and helping me so much with this story! I couldn't do it without you, or your and Illusianation's unending support!**_

 **Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.**

* * *

" _How?"_

That was the only word Carol could manage to squeeze past her lips. The only sound she could spare enough oxygen to make. Heat swept throughout her body, nerves tingling, and shock emptying her of the power to move any of her limbs. She was light as a feather floating in air, as if the tiniest breeze off the ocean would sweep her away. She still wasn't completely convinced she hadn't lost her mind and was hallucinating him standing before her.

The tiniest details began to penetrate the haze surrounding her. His hair was lighter. Shaggier. His skin more bronzed. His biceps and shoulders more pronounced and defined than when she last saw him. He looked as if he spent his days working outside with his hands and he wore it well.

She stepped closer, her hand reaching up to touch his face, gently caressing his scruffy cheek with the tips of her fingers, reassuring herself that he was real.

His gaze burned through her, his eyes never leaving her face. He was drinking her in, like a man dying of thirst in the desert and she was the last drink of water. The heat in his stare was so intense she felt the searing flames at the edges of her heart, branding her. She'd never be the same; his mark on her life would always be there.

 _"How?"_ She repeated her question, trying to read the emotions hidden in the depths of his eyes.

"It's kind of a long story. You want to walk with me? I'll tell ya everything."

The rough, gravelly timbre of his voice scraped along every nerve ending in her body, exciting her and causing goosebumps to break out along her skin. She had missed that voice. Even her most vivid dreams hadn't done it justice during the time she had spent thinking he was dead. That only served to remind her there was a lot she didn't know, and he was standing there waiting for her answer.

"Yeah, start at the beginning."

They turned and headed out to the shoreline, each step taking them further from the lights of the hotel and the bar, and deeper into the night, moonlight reflecting off each wave, each crest. The ocean gleamed onyx and silver, glowing into the distance as far as the eye could see, inky black and pewter waters crashing against the rocks along the coast.

"What do you know?" Daryl asked, starting the heavy conversation they each were desperate to have over with already.

"I looked for you," Carol admitted in a hushed voice, reverent of the quiet surrounding them. "I figured out Shane's connection and...questioned him." The dark innuendo in her tone caused Daryl to chuckle. She spared him a weak smile, before continuing. "He said you attacked him, he shot you, and that was the last contact he had with you. Then I saw the story on the news...the F.B.I., _Gareth West_." At the mention of the almost botched hit, she looked at him and said, "That was _my kill._ What were you thinking?" She stopped where she was, waiting for him to look at her, to respond. Shaking her head when he didn't answer she pressed on, "Then I saw the news conference, and the wreck…"

She trailed off and turned her gaze to the water, avoiding looking directly at him, hoping he wouldn't see the tears glistening in her eyes, threatening to spill down her cheeks. Her emotions were a tangled mess right now, and she didn't quite know which way was up.

"You mind if we sit?" Daryl asked her, pointing to the spot of dry sand behind them.

She backed up and lowered herself to the ground beside him. Her fingers dug into the gritty and rough grains of sand at her sides, smaller pebbles wedging uncomfortably under her fingernails. The discomfort grounded her.

He cleared his throat and looked out over the expanse before him, trying to gauge where to begin, before deciding just to start from when they separated.

"After we parted ways last year, I went to meet up with my guy, Shane. You already met him." Daryl motioned with his hand towards her before continuing. "He'd been visited by the Feds, questioned about Peletier's murder and the murder of one Abraham Ford. Turns out 'ol Abe was _undercover_ , working for the Feds to bring Peletier in on fraud and embezzlement charges."

Carol gasped, a twinge of remorse, a pang of conscience vibrating through her for the man who'd simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time, and paid for it with his life. _At her hand._

He nudged her with his shoulder, patting her gently on the knee, before continuing his story.

"Anyways, Shane was fired up about the botched job; I didn't let him know you were there, too." He spoke the last part a bit softer, a hint of protectiveness in his voice. "I had a guy I know do some fancy computer work to find out what they had on the case, and he discovered that they were linking multiple murders, using the murder weapon and similar wounds found on Ford." He gave her a quick smirk, trying to lighten the mood. "You're pretty dangerous with that knife."

She chuckled. "I warned you not to underestimate me."

He nodded. "Yes, you did. So, anyway, my computer guy, he said they were thinking maybe it was two people in on the job." He cast a sideways glance at her, trying to gauge her reaction. "I didn't want them to close in on you, but I didn't have any way to find you or let you know to lay low for a while. I didn't want anyone to know you were involved, so I didn't even mention you to my tech guy. 'Bout then, a case popped up, turns out it was West. They had matching wounds, weapons, and they had a witness sayin' they saw a lady near the scene."

"That guy on the bike…," Carol whispered, her mind reeling, thinking just how close she had come to being caught. All her caution, her careful planning...in the end it hadn't mattered. If it hadn't been for Daryl…

"I knew they weren't gonna quit until they had pinned Ford's death on someone. They take care of their own. I just wanted to make sure none of it came back on you. So, I got Shane to help me orchestrate somethin' that would let him off the hook as a suspect for Peletier, and also, take the heat off of you for the other jobs. We made it look like I attacked Shane, and _underestimated_ him. I used the same kinda knife you did, so the wound would match, and he made sure to graze me with a bullet, so my DNA was left at the scene. He gave me enough time to get a head start and then called it in."

Carol tried to take it all in, processing what he was telling her. The risks he'd taken. _Just to make sure her name was in the clear._

"What about the wreck? How'd you pull that off?" She questioned him, still not quite sure she could believe what was right in front of her. She pushed her fingers deeper into the cool sand, clenching her fingers around the gravelly material.

"Ah yeah, that. Shane knows a guy." Daryl laughed. "He's buddies with the M.E. He set me up with a John Doe, staged the crash site. M.E. made sure the 'dental records' matched."

Carol just looked at Daryl in awe. He'd pulled all this off without a hitch. The planning, the execution, the strategy it took was monumental. Her heart sped up and her cheeks flushed, and she'd be lying if she said she wasn't more than a little turned on by the intelligence and cunning it took to plan something like that and carry it out to fruition.

"M.E.'s wife works for the state, she was able to get me some new papers. New ID. The rest is history." He said, thickly.

More than just the story was history. They had left that part of their lives behind. Just like they said they wanted, and he had made it all possible.

"So...who are you now?" Carol cocked an eyebrow at him and used the opportunity to run her eyes over his face, his body...each and every part of him that she had missed, dreamed of, and thought about over the past year.

"I'm still Daryl." He returned her gaze, his eyes searching hers out, willing her to see the truth in the words. He was still the same Daryl who'd made love to her that last time before he left. The same Daryl who'd stood with her on a balcony and told of his longing to walk away from a life of loneliness and crime. To be different. Better.

"I know," she whispered. "I can tell." She held out her hand, shaking the sand from it and searching his out in the darkness and shadows between them. Their hands clasped together, and it was familiar, comforting. They were no longer alone, drifting aimless in a life of solitude.

They were content to sit in silence, letting the sounds of the waves crashing into the shore lull them into a peaceful state of reflection and contemplation.

"What's this mean?" Carol broke into the stillness, asking the question both had been thinking. "For us? Are we an 'us'?"

"What do you want?" Daryl asked in return, his thumb rubbing over her fingertips where their hands connected.

She didn't answer right away, but each noticed the shift in the atmosphere between them. The way the air thickened, the tension mounted, and Carol felt heat swirl inside of her as she thought about just how long it had been since she had been with a man. A year. Since Daryl.

After him, she just hadn't been interested in anyone else. No one else held the same lure or attraction that he held for her. Not just because of his body, but because he _knew her._ He alone knew what the life they had lived had taken from her. He alone knew that isolation. That fear of trusting anyone, letting anyone get too close. For that very reason, she'd already let him in and hadn't realized it until it was too late.

" _You,_ " Carol breathed, a soft murmur on the breeze, and turned to him, pulling him into her arms and meeting his lips in a kiss full of all the longing, all the desire she had stored up over the last year. It was a hungry kiss, but she wasn't just taking. She was giving back all of the gratitude for what he did for her, all of the acceptance of him, just as he was, killer or not. It was an offering of herself, of everything she kept back from anyone else, for fear of being hurt. She gave it willingly to him in the achingly soft and warm presses of her lips to his.

"What do you want?" Carol paused the kiss to ask, looking up at his face, seeing the depth of desire written on his countenance, and the fire glowing in his eyes.

* * *

Their entrance to her room played out much differently than the last time. Their steps were unhurried and deliberate. There was no wild abandon and tossing of clothes. It wasn't an attempt to squeeze as much into a weekend as possible.

It was slow, reverent, worshipful. It was each of them taking their time to love, praise, and memorize each other's bodies. To re-learn all they might have forgotten in the span of time between their trysts.

Daryl lay between her legs, lazily thrusting deep, slow, grazing her walls in just the right way, driving her out of her mind with pleasure. He was braced on his forearms along side of her head, kissing her just as lazily and deeply. His tongue massaged hers, dancing and stroking, building up the fires of arousal in her. He held his body as close to hers as possible, wanting to touch her in every way imaginable, skin to skin from head to toe.

He clasped his hands to her head, holding her to him, his face buried in her shoulder, and as he felt her shudder around him, and her cries ring out, he let himself go, giving in to complete and total surrender.

 _It was better than any dream he could've imagined._


	10. Epilogue

**AN: Thank you from the bottom of my heart, Meeshie and Naomi! I could not have written this story without you two!**

* * *

Michonne Williams backed into her office door, balancing a stack of file folders in one arm, and a mug of hot coffee in the other hand.

"No thanks, Agent Porter, I've got it from here." She dismissed the eager, young recruit and kicked her door shut with her foot.

The guy was on her last nerve, hovering all the time, desperate to please. She'd rather he just do his job and get out of her way. She had work to do and no time for foolishness.

Michonne dropped the stack of folders on her desk and sat down at her computer. She was ready to be done with this assignment. Cyber terrorism was not her forte. Picking up the first file, she glanced through it, learning all she could about the hacker and his methods, and studying the surveillance photos.

The FBI had been the victim of the several intelligence leaks. It wasn't being advertised, and Michonne was given the task of discovering just who was behind it, given her connection to the case surrounding Ford's demise. She hadn't know him personally, but from all accounts he was a good agent, leaving behind a widow and two small children. It was a shame.

She entered her notes on the computer and moved on to the next folder. It was tedious work, exhausting and mentally draining. Also, boring. She got up and refreshed her mug of coffee, then took a fifteen minute break to do some sit-ups in an effort to wake herself up and clear her mind.

She was nearly through the next folder when something caught her attention. One of the people in the surveillance photos looked familiar. She looked back at the name on the folder.

 _Glenn Rhee._

Standing next to Rhee in the photo was the last man she expected to see. Her brain started clicking, wheels turning, hurriedly putting the puzzle pieces together. What was going on and what were the odds that the man who allegedly killed Ford would be connected to one of the possible sources of the leak? That was no coincidence. She was sure of it.

She flipped back to the photo and examined the date stamp.

 _No. It couldn't be._

He was dead.

Yet, standing next to Rhee in the photo, clear as day, was Daryl Dixon.

* * *

 _This is it! Thank you so much for reading!_

 _xoxoxo_

 _P.S. Yes, that means there is a sequel planned :-)_


End file.
